


To Be

by hootowl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Divergence, Gen, No Slash, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, trash for the trashcan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-16 06:45:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12337575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hootowl/pseuds/hootowl
Summary: When he opened his eyes for the first time after death, he didn’t think the Afterlife would look like a fourposter bed with deep blue curtains.





	To Be

**Author's Note:**

> "To be, or not to be, that is the question-  
> Whether 'tis Nobler in the mind to suffer  
> The Slings and Arrows of outrageous Fortune,  
> Or to take Arms against a Sea of troubles,  
> And by opposing, end them?"  
> Hamlet, Act III, Scene 1, William Shakespeare

When he opened his eyes for the first time after death, he didn’t think the Afterlife would look like a fourposter bed with deep blue curtains. He also didn’t expect to still be wracked by pain or the unexpectedly heavy warmth on his chest. No, he thought that at least in death he’d escape pain. It wasn’t fair. Of course, Severus Snape knew nothing in life was fair. He just didn’t expect that same rule to pass over into death. He’d imagined that Death was the Great Equalizer. It was obvious that there was no rest for the weary on either plane.

A door nearby opened quietly and near silent footsteps on old floorboards approached the bed. A moment later, bright green eyes in a far too familiar face leaned over him. Green eyes he’d looked into as he took his last gasping breaths in the land of the living. Eyes he’d hoped to see in a different face.

The apparition gasped in surprise. “Professor Snape!”

So this was the Afterlife. An eternity with Harry bloody Potter. Severus let his eyes fall closed with a groan, pointedly ignoring the hand that pressed against his forehead and the inane question that followed: “Are you in pain, Professor?”

“Potter,” he rasped, fire burning in his throat, “must you torment me even in death?”

The hand dropped from his forehead, but the boy didn’t reply. Severus cracked open an eye, fully expecting to find himself alone, and was surprised to find Potter still standing at his bedside, an odd expression on his face. The boy remained silent and Severus sighed. “Don’t you have other souls to haunt. I’m sure there are others with whom you’d rather spend the first hours of your death.”

He wondered if the Grim Reaper had a complaint box. To his consternation, the boy didn’t seem the least bit deterred, though his expression did clear with a look of understanding. Potter’s mouth quirked and Severus shut his eyes. Maybe if he ignored the boy, Potter would find something else with which to occupy his eternity.

“You’re not dead, Professor.”

“If that is the case, Potter, then you have either chosen to spend your afterlife tormenting me for the rest of _my_ days or you have chosen to flee from the Dark Lord and thus damned the world.”

He would not blame the boy if he fled instead of sacrificing himself. No, he was but a boy of seventeen. Far too young to die for people that alternately loved and hated him on the slightest whim. Not for the first time did Severus curse Albus Dumbledore for raising the boy as a sacrificial lamb. Pressure was building in his temples and it was only a matter of time before it became a full-blown migraine. The boy’s head tilted and he looked faintly amused. “Voldemort is dead. The war is over and the aurors are rounding up the last of the Death Eaters. And I am still among the living.”

For the first time since Potter had entered the room, Severus noticed how thin the boy looked. The dark shadows beneath his eyes that told a story of little sleep were only partially hidden by the frames of his glasses and a bruise marred his left cheek. He could even see healing scratches. How _did_ the boy survive? “You should put some bruise paste on that.”

Potter’s hand flew to his face, fingers gingerly touching the bruise before he let it drop with a shrug. “The healers said any more potions could be potentially dangerous. I have to let the rest heal on its own.”

It was then Severus noticed the phoenix perched comfortably on his chest. He stared. Potter grinned, reaching out and running a hand down the bird’s red feathers, commenting dryly, “Fascinating creatures, phoenixes.”

There seemed to be a private joke in his words, but Severus ignored them. The bird preened under the attention, turning bright eyes on the Potions Master. “Fawkes.”

The phoenix trilled a greeting, but remained sitting on Severus’s chest, eying him with dark eyes. He was too weak to push the bird away so he didn’t even try. Besides, the warmth was oddly soothing. Still, the surroundings were unknown to him and his survival after he was sure Death had come for him bewildered him. “Potter, how did I come to be…wherever _here_ is?”

Potter shifted awkwardly, but was prevented from answering when a silvery light burst through the wall, startling both men. It bounced around the room until it gained the form of an otter and bounded across the bed before it stopped in front of Potter, sitting upright and alert. A moment later, a familiar female voice sounded out of it in an odd echo, “Harry, we don’t know where you are, and no one can tell us when they’ve last seen you. We’re worried. Mrs. Weasley is frantic. It’s been _days_ …”

The voice paused for a moment before continuing briskly, “I’ve been going through your mail for you…sorting it and getting rid of the cursed ones and the ones you definitely don’t want to see. Really. Some _people_ — Right. I’m sending you the ones that look important though I’m sure everyone will understand if you don’t answer immediately.”

To Severus’s combined amusement and disgust, the otter suddenly hunched and heaved for several seconds before finally regurgitating a bundle of letters into Potter’s lap, the boy’s expression horrified. The otter straightened again, cleaning whiskers and smoothing down ruffled fur. Grooming complete, the otter seemed to look intently at the boy until the voice finished, “Please let us know you’re safe.”

With that, the otter did a backflip and disappeared in a puff of light and mist, leaving both men staring in bemusement at the empty space. Severus cleared his throat, commenting dryly, “I understand that _that_ was Ms. Granger’s patronus.”

“Yes.”

“Typical.”

Severus watched Potter flip through his mail. He seemed to discard most of it for later reading — or perhaps an incendio charm later, if Severus judged the boy’s grimace correctly — but paused on an official looking envelop. Severus recognized the seal on the back. He hadn’t thought the government was in a state to do much of anything official for the time being. “The Ministry.”

Potter looked up at him, frowning. Severus waited for the boy to say something, but Potter merely opened the letter and scanned the contents. A frown appeared between Potter’s eyebrows and Severus sighed. It had to be bad news. He wondered if the dementors had returned to Ministry control. “The Aurors are demanding that you hand me over for justice.”

“What?” Potter blurted, looking up at him. “Oh, no. They’re telling me that they’ve waived the N.E.W.T. scores and have accepted me immediately into the Auror program.”

“That doesn’t please you.” Severus noted shrewdly.

Potter flushed, shifting uncomfortably. “It’s not that it’s not flattering or…you know. I just…”

He trailed off with an awkward shrug. Severus stared at him, dark eyes penetrating. Potter kept his eyes on the letter, not really reading it or even looking at it. Severus wasn’t going to counsel the Boy-Who-Lived with career advice. That was Minerva’s job. He watched the boy gnaw his lip and Severus couldn’t stop the annoyed sigh. “You don’t have to become an Auror, Potter.”

Potter grimaced, folding the letter slowly and stuffing it back into its envelop. He worried a corner for a moment and his shoulders seemed to slump. “It’s the only thing I’m good at, sir.”

Severus snorted derisively. “Foolish boy. You have other skills than throwing yourself into every dangerous situation you can possibly find like an idiotic Gryffindor.”

He ignored the startled green-eyed gaze, his lips twisting as he continued, “You can fly. Well enough for nearly any team. If you _want_ to be an empty-headed quidditch star, that is. You can teach and, as I understand it, Hogwarts has several positions open.”

“ _Teach_?”

At Potter’s incredulous question, Severus shot him a withering look. “Did you not teach a band of delinquents defense?”

“Well, yeah, but that was just a group of friends and that was Hermione’s idea.”

“As brilliant as Ms. Granger is, she lacks the ability to teach the average dunderheaded student that passes through Hogwarts year to year. As for your little friends, it is often more difficult to lead your peers than those outside your peer group.”

Severus fell silent. He was _not_ going to praise Potter further. Hell was probably experiencing a cold snap just now. He was somewhat startled the boy seemed to actually give a teaching career some thought. “You think I could teach?”

“Potter, no one in your group made anything below an E on their end of year exams. That, in itself, is a miracle.”

Potter looked back at the Ministry envelop, his brow furrowed, and Severus added, “Teaching is less likely to leave Ms. Weasley a widow.”

Pink blossomed on the boy’s cheeks and he tucked his chin, mumbling, “We’re not…uh…together…anymore.”

Severus snorted derisively, leaning back into the pillows and closing his eyes. When was the last time he had a bed this comfortable? His brow furrowed. When was the last time he _slept_? He didn’t think unconsciousness counted as sleep and he still felt bone-tired. Fifth year, he decided. Merlin, that was twenty years ago. Well, twenty-three, but who’s counting? _God_ , he could sleep forever and still be exhausted. To quote an American General, _‘War is hell.’_

The floorboards creaked. Right. The brat was still standing there like a dunce. He dragged his eyes open, turning to look at him. “You never said what happened.”

“Oh,” Potter said dumbly, twisting to look over his shoulder as if trying to locate something, “I have the paper—”

“I don’t want to read that _drivel_ , Potter,” he sneered. _Reporters_ , he scoffed, _more like blights upon the earth._ “I know the Dark Lord ordered you to come to him.”

The boy made a face at his use of ‘Dark Lord,’ but Severus ignored him. Old habits were hard to break and he’d spent the majority of his adult life addressing the Dark Lord as such. Potter hesitated only a moment more and then the whole story rushed out of the boy, leaving him flushed and panting, eyes wide as he finished with, “And then Voldemort AKed me and Mrs. Malfoy—”

“What?” Severus interrupted, sure he’d misheard. There was no way Potter survived the curse a _second_ time. “Are you sure it was the killing curse?”

Potter blinked at him stupidly and Severus had to admit it was a ridiculous question. There really was no way to mistake the cruse. “Yes; he kind of shouted it at me, Professor.”

Severus leaned back against his pillows, covering his eyes with one hand and unconsciously seeking the comfort of Fawkes’ feathers with the other as Potter continued the story up to the final confrontation in the Great Hall. Merlin almighty, he’d survived the killing curse _twice_. Did the rest of the wizarding world know? “Is there anyone still alive who witnessed the Dark Lord,” he hesitated, “kill you?”

Merlin! The boy _died_. Well, he _knew_ the boy was going to die. He’d been so angry with Albus… he’d almost killed the old man right then and there when he learned of it. His whole purpose in life: a sham. It was nearly enough to push him toward either drink or poison. Poison would’ve killed him quicker.

“Hagrid,” Potter says immediately and for some strange reason Severus felt a rush of relief. “And Mrs. Malfoy.”

Severus wondered how likely it was for Narcissa to reveal that information. He imagined she’d want to distance herself and her family as far from the events of the war as she could. She and Lucius had become disillusioned about the cause during the Dark Lord’s occupation of their home and probably wanted their participation obliviated from the public conscious. He could feel Potter’s eyes on him and he released a steady breath. “You should be dead.”

“Yes,” he agreed easily, his shoulders lifting in a dismissive gesture, “but so should you.”

He grunted. “Until they feed me to the dementors.”

“I don’t think that’s likely, sir.”

Severus lifted the hand over his eyes to peer at the boy. Potter flashed a grin, explaining, “Professor Dumbledore left behind memories in the event you survived. Dumbledore’s portrait explained to Kingsley how to find them. And I have yours as well.”

“Meddlesome bastard,” he mumbled, paying no attention to Potter’s amused snort. “I suppose this is his house.”

“Yes, sir. Fawkes brought you to the hospital wing after the battle and Madam Pomfrey patched you up and then Fawkes brought you here to prevent riots. I think he’s still purging Nagini’s poison.”

“How’d you manage to earn yourself this prison?”

Potter stared at the phoenix with a distant look in his eyes for several heartbeats. “Madam Pomfrey felt it would be better if I recovered out of the hospital wing. Apparently I cause a distraction that prevents the others from the peace they need to heal and she wanted someone to keep an eye on you.”

Severus looked at him critically. He was definitely wilting and his features were taking on the haggard appearance of exhaustion. “Have you slept at all, Potter?”

The boy shook himself from his thoughts and frowned. “Yes. Just not…well. Nightmares, you know. And when I relax, the aches worsen.”

“Aches?”

Potter ran a hand through his wild hair, sighing heavily. “Anyone who says the killing curse is painless is lying. It’s quick and so once you’re dead, I suppose the pain doesn’t really matter.”

Severus had never put much thought into the side effects of the killing curse on its victims. What did it matter? They were dead and there was no undoing _that_. “There’s pain?”

Potter nodded sharply. “Worse than Voldemort’s Cruciatus, but it’s over once you pass the Veil. Your soul is forcibly ripped from your body, you know.” His brow furrowed in thought for a moment and then he mused, “I wonder if the Kiss feels the same way. I mean the part where your soul leaves your body. Obviously there’s utter despair before that. Maybe you don’t notice the pain because of that.”

“Don’t even think about experimenting, Potter,” he snapped, pretending he didn’t see Potter’s surprised look. “Did you tell Poppy?”

“The post-cruciatus potion helped, but I think that was mainly doing its job since old snake-face’s second favorite spell is Cruciatus. I don’t think there’s a potion for after the killing curse.”

“Not for the victim,” Severus agreed, ignoring the puzzled look he received. “People don’t normally survive the curse so there’s no need to develop a potion.”

Potter nodded. “Of course, even if there was one, Madam Pomfrey wouldn’t let me have it. One more potion just might kill me.”

The boy snickered at Severus’ eye roll. “Go rest, Potter. You exhaust me.”


End file.
